“You should know. You were floundering when you came here for the first time.”
She followed Carla into the kitchen before he could protest. He’d never been lost. He’d always known exactly who he was.
* * * *
“Carla, mi amor! Come here this instant and hug me.” Carla followed her great aunt’s instructions and was immediately wrenched into the woman’s embrace. Though Lola was one of the few people in her family smaller than her, she was deceptively strong. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” Her words were muffled by her aunt’s fluffy, curly hair.
Lola pushed her away abruptly. “You look terrible. Skinny.”
“I was trying to get in shape for my wedding.”
“Pfft. If you were trying to get into shape, you would have been eating ropa vieja and plantains, putting meat on your bones.” Lola pinched her side. “You’ll make me one of those mojitos you have on the counter, and we’ll put together some dinner.”
“I thought you served tea at four?” Carla muddled some fresh mint to fix her aunt a drink.
“I’m running late today because I was hung up with my lover.”
Carla was glad she wasn’t drinking because she would have choked. “Far be it for me to get in the way of you and your love life.”
“Not a love life, Carla. Sex.” She’d forgotten how frank Tia Lola could be. Nothing like her much-older sister—Carla’s abuela. According to family lore, Lola had only been in love with one man—her ex-husband—and he now lived in Miami, near their adult children.
When Carla had come to Cuba for the first time with her father, when she was sixteen, she’d watched Lola get ready for a date. Though Lola was nearing seventy, she’d aged in the mysterious way that French or Italian women did. Carla had marveled at all the potions Lola applied to her face and neck. She’d never forget her great aunt’s words. All of this stuff is bullshit. The best skin cream is an orgasm. Nobody knew what would come out of her tiny, pocket Venus of a great aunt.
Carla had taken Lola’s words to heart during her early twenties. She’d made out with every hot artist, musician, and bartender on South Beach—always making sure she got hers. No one had intentionally made her feel bad about the one-night stands and flings she’d had before she’d met Geoff; it was all part of her flighty, party-girl image.
But when her brother got divorced, she realized that she was getting further and further away from the life she wanted with every new flirtation. She’d thought that settling down with a steady guy instead of a model who was really a bartender who couldn’t be bothered to show up for a real date would improve her life. Instead, she was humiliated and in self-imposed exile in a foreign country—a communist country at that. So no opportunities for retail therapy. She really should have thought this out better.
Lola must have noticed her scrunched-up face because she poked Carla between the eyes. “I know you have lots of fancy fillers and peels in the States, but don’t court wrinkles.” She clapped her hands and pointed at the ancient refrigerator. “We’ll heat up some leftovers, and you’ll be too full to be worried.”
“That’s not how it works, tia.”
“Of course it is.” Lola raised her glass and took a healthy gulp of her mojito. One would think that her diminutive size would make her delicate, but her drinking was certainly hardy.
“Far be it from me to argue.”
Lola huffed and started pulling covered plates out of her vintage refrigerator. Shortly after that, there was food on the stove, and smells curled around the kitchen to Carla’s nose. Back home, she didn’t eat Cuban food often. But whenever she smelled ropa vieja, it felt like coming home.
She finished one cocktail and made herself another, after which Lola held out her empty glass. After a mojito and a half, she was truly happy she’d come to Cuba. She needed to get away. Around her deliriously in-love siblings, she felt as though she couldn’t get her breath. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but it hurt so much that she’d done everything the right way, and she still didn’t have that.
“You look sad again.” Lola pushed two heaping plates of food at her. “Jonah will never pay you any attention if you look constipated.”
“I hate to break it to you, but Jonah is not my type.”
Lola threw her head back and laughed so hard she coughed and choked. Just when Carla thought she might have to break Lola’s ribs to give her CPR, she stopped. “That boy is the type of every single person on earth who likes to have sex with men. If I were even five years younger…”
“You should go for it. Since when do you care about age?” That pit of jealousy that hit her when she said that was crazy; she had no claim on Jonah
“Pssh.” Lola made a dismissive hand motion. “Jonah doesn’t need me for that. He needs Mama Lola, not curl-his-toes-in-bed Lola.”
Carla wasn’t about to touch that. So, she looked at the plates. “Where’s yours?”
“I had too much sex to eat.” Lola’s face looked totally innocent. If Carla didn’t know better, she’d think her great aunt was a sweet, gently aged, older lady. Not true. Not true at all.
“That’s not a thing, tia.”
“Just eat dinner with Jonah.”
“I don’t want to. He doesn’t like me.”
“He’s not stupid, so of course he likes you.”
“No. He thinks I’m here to fleece you of your savings and steal the family home out from under you.”
“Well, are you?”
“No. I’m here to do some updates so you can charge more money.” Carla took a bite of the ropa vieja—she refused to moan aloud because it was just food, and she wasn’t that deprived of pleasure. Or maybe she was, but she didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“What do I need more money for?”
That stopped Carla in her tracks. Lola had a fuller life than she did—a lover, a very good-looking man in the house to look at, and an active social life. All her needs were met. Maybe Carla was here for nothing.
Lola grabbed Carla’s shoulders, her bony fingers demanding Carla’s full attention. “You’re here because you need something to do. And I’m happy to give it to you.”
That made Carla feel bad. She’d always felt like a burden to her parents. Hell, her mom had let her redecorate their master bath twice. Although Carla was too proud to borrow money, she’d had less of a qualm about doing work for her parents—even if it wasn’t necessary. And now they were pawning her off on her great aunt.
“I don’t have to do anything if you don’t want me to.”
“This place needs sprucing up; I think you’re just the one to do it. I’m just not going to charge any more money.” Lola winked. “I like my strays.”
When they walked into the dining room, Carla was gut-punched again by how attractive Jonah was. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, a stance that made the muscles of his forearms especially prominent. She imagined them pinning her wrists into a bed while he pounded into her. Sweat broke out onto her upper lip, even more unladylike than the thoughts this man aroused in her.
He seemed oblivious to how hot and bothered he made her. If he was aware, he’d either throw her over his shoulder and run upstairs or—more likely—flee the island.
“One of those plates for me, princess?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
Jonah